Aftershocks of You
by CarrilaideAnywhere
Summary: Just a quick, dark little thing about how I think Harry could've felt after the death of Sirius and what events could've occurred. Don't read it if you don't like it.
1. A Most Uncomfortable Run-in

**AN: If you don't like this stuff, it's your own fault for reading it.**

**Disclaimer- I hereby claim my writing, though surrender anything you recognize because it isn't mine.**

It's cold in here. Trapped inside my skin, I'm freezing. And I deserve it. Of course, the fact that my fingers are so numb that they can't feel the railing they're clenched around might have something to do with the temperature atop the Astronomy Tower. I've never felt so inexpressibly terrible in my entire wretched life. And I've never been so scared.

It's like there's an avalanche pouring through my chest, but it won't stop falling. The blame for this tragedy falls on me. I don't need Dumbledore's reassurances; I don't want the pity in his tears, because I deserve every drop of misery that's corroding all traces of happiness. No one can tell me it isn't my fault because I truly know it is. It is my stupidity that killed you, Sirius.

I am the reason Lupin's best and only friend is dead. I am the reason your life was cut so tragically short. It is I, and I alone, standing on this tower of blame. It is I, and I alone, that deserves to die. I'd do it myself. It's me who is looking over this edge at the ground hundreds of feet below and am not scared to collide with it. I want to break over the ground, I want to feel the fall push the unworthy life from me, and I want it so bad. I'd like to leap over this railing and not even consider what I'm doing. I'd like to plummet and be completely out of control, like to know there is nothing for me to latch onto at the last minute. I need to be killed, I was supposed to be killed, and it doesn't matter who does it.

But I won't cave in to my desire. I won't jump from these heights, and it's because of you. Because you wouldn't have wanted that, and I owe you my life. You'd like to preserve my life, not end it, and that is so unfair. It is so unfair that you'd allow me to undergo the pain of losing you, of the rest of my unstable mind falling apart. You'd rather have me be a wreck and alive than suffer the consequence of my rashness, of my stupidity, and just die. My life wasn't worth dying for, Sirius. You're so lucky I owe you.

...

Remus surprises me the next day, nearly running straight into me. I look up at him in shock, register his familiar face, and nearly give myself whiplash in my hurry to stare at my shoes. I'm too cowardly to keep eye contact with the man who I sentenced to a thicker misery than he had ever experienced in his unfortunate life. However, in that fleeting instant that I saw his rugged face, I read amounts of grief no one could be capable of. He didn't sleep last night. He's been crying. I bet he sobbed for hours. My actions made one of my favorite people, a man stronger than any other, weep hysterically.

But, Remus is chocked full of surprises today, and I feel his hands on my shoulders. I can still feel his stare.

"Harry," he says, and he says my name like it explains something. I hear no anger, and I wish he would lose control and punch me, break my nose or my ribs or the tiny shreds of my black heart, if they can be broken further. But I hear sympathy, and it makes me want to burn up and die. I feel blood swell up in my face. "How are you?" I could hang myself right now.

I make myself look up into the eyes of someone I hurt. I see a good man, who can still care about a murderer. His image hurts the most, and I owe him the world, but all I can give him is a pathetic apology.

"I'm sorry I killed your best and last friend, Remus," and I try to pack everything I need to get across into it. His eyes redden even more, and I avert my stare. I know he's too exhausted to chase me, so I turn and run and slam my way through the heavy Entrance Hall doors. I hear him call my name, but he sounds as weak as I feel. He doesn't have it in him to chase me and fail to console me.

I hardly turn a corner to conceal me from the doors where he'll eventually emerge when I collapse in the shade. I lie in the grass, face half in the mud, and sob as hard as I've ever sobbed. They rock my body and make my lungs hurt, and I can feel every shaking cell in my body try to keep a hold of itself.

I'll be content to cry like a baby here for hours, because through the pain in my stomach, I don't feel the revolt.


	2. Parting Friends

I'm seated in the Great Hall, Ron next to me and Hermione across. There is no conversation except for Hermione's awkward attempts at talking about Sirius and Ron's careful interruptions. I appreciate that he understands that maybe I don't want to talk about it, where Hermione thinks she knows best.

I twist my fork through my noodles, appetite dead. I'm too shaken to be hungry. Hermione glares at Ron, who returns her glare. My grip around the fork begins to shake, and I feel my foot tapping impatiently. I can't bear another second of Hermione's know-it-all attitude. I feel Dumbledore's stare from the head table. My blood begins to heat.

I remember watching Sirius on that cursed dais. His face is so concentrated, eyebrows knitted together. His wand whips around, his light-show battle with Bellatrix reaching a fiery climax. Somebody is about to lose. I approach the platform, preparing to come to Sirius' aid.

And, for a moment, the air seems stagnant and icy as a merciless green jet pierces my godfather's chest. His wand stops slashing, and I stop approaching. I'm still for a minute, taking in the image of him like a standing, empty puppet, and not registering it. Then he slips through the veil of invisible whisperers, and I need to reach him, feet coming back to life.

Hermione's superior, high-pitched voice snaps me from my reverie.

"Harry, it isn't healthy to-" but I'm in no mood for her, and my thin restraint snaps.

"I don't want your damned lectures, Hermione! Actually, no, could you answer something for me?" Her face is frozen, eyes wide. I lean closer, a fire eating up my gut. I want to be cruel. I want to see her cry. "Is your godfather dead?" She hasn't quite recovered from the shock, and a lot of people are watching me yell at Hermione.

"Well, n-no," she stammers.

"No? So, you mean to say you have never witnessed your godfather be murdered right in front of you?"

"No, I onl-"

"No, that never happened to you! Your life has had no tragedy like that! Wow, Hermione, for the brightest witch of our age, you're pretty damn clueless! So, do me a favor, because you're making me sick, and stop thinking that you know what's best for me!" Her lip quivers and a dark part of me smiles brightly. I made her cry! I thank my lucky stars that I'm close to the Great Hall entrance as I take my quick leave.

I'm in no rush as I head upstairs, pleased with my fight with Hermione. It felt good to be mean, to release my toxic, bottled anger and lash out at her. I'm halfway up when I hear a familiar voice behind me.

"Oi!" I heave a sigh, knowing this won't end well.

"What do you want, Ron?" I snap. My reasonable conscience cringes, and I'm well aware that I'm demolishing both of my five-year friendships.

"Listen, Harry! I know that Sirius is dead, and you're angry, and your temper is fragile, but you can't just scream at Hermione in front of the entire school!"

"So this is my fault, is it?" I ask, descending a few steps to get closer to him. "You don't think she was asking for it?"

"That was way out of order! She's crying right now!" I nearly jump down the stairs in order to come face to face with him.

"Then you better run along, Ron! You better control the damage that I so unrightfully inflicted!" There's a resounding silence before Harry decides to fill it. "Don't think you know what's happening to me, because you don't have the faintest idea. I would trade with you in an instant. I know you're the jealous type, and you could have my notoriety, my dead parents, and my recently murdered godfather. You could be the one who left the Ministry with a greater wound than a brain attacking you. I would trade you, or Hermione, or anyone right now for an easier, happier life. However, I can't just switch out of this situation. So, turn around, go back to Hermione, and bad mouth me all you want. You guys can hate me, and talk about me, and try to make me more miserable than I already am. But don't you dare think for a second that you could possibly know what's wrong with me."

It takes all my willpower not to run as I ascend the staircase, and I'm glad that Ron doesn't want to get the final word in.


	3. The Visitor

**I owe a giant thank you to my generous reviewers and anyone who responded to my story. Ever since got my first review, I've been eagerly checking my email. This is my first brainchild that I've posted on FanFiction, and its amazing knowing other people can enjoy my writing. I'm always open to ideas, by the way, so if inspiration strikes you, let me know. **

I twist over in my bed so my stiff spine can find a new position. Fitting my glasses over my eyes, I glance at my wristwatch. It reads 12:13 pm. I groan. Smack dab in the middle of the day and I can't manage to fall asleep again. I contemplate getting up to feed Hedwig, but even my faithful owl has been giving me disappointed glares recently. I resolve to stare at the ceiling, instead.

My aunt and uncle have been leaving me alone for the past week and a half. Maybe they are just sick of corresponding with a wizard, or maybe they've picked up on my obvious irritability. My patience has been worn dangerously thin.

I constantly find myself trying to go back to sleep, because what else would I do? Write Ron and Hermione? No, I haven't spoken to them since the incident in the Great Hall. But just because we weren't speaking doesn't mean they didn't shoot me these horribly annoying, hesitant, concerned looks when they thought I couldn't see them.

I nearly regret blowing up at Hermione, but especially Ron, when I gauge the all-around detrimental effects. Ron wasn't only my best friend, but it was like I had a second family through him. It isn't fair that a fight with Ron means things will never be the same between the Weasleys and me. I feel stupid every time I ponder what the Weasleys must think of me now. I feel stupid every time I remember rushing to Sirius' aid at the Ministry, completely convinced that he was in trouble. No, he wasn't in trouble until I put him there.

But mostly I feel pathetic when I'm still wrapped in my bed sheets, trying to slip away from the tenacious hold of reality. Sirius was always so vibrant and full of life, never wanting to stay in the same place. He always yearned to battle on the frontlines. I don't even want to consider the pity in his eyes that would be there.

I roll my eyes when the doorbell sounds. Another muggle, fooled by my two-faced Aunt and Uncle into thinking that they're decent people. I hear the creak of Uncle Vernon's protesting chair as he pulls himself up, waddling over to answer the door.

"Is Harry home?" My stomach plummets and I sit up ramrod straight. Hedwig squawks in surprise at my sudden movement, but it's muffled by my quickening pulse. That voice. I'd remember that voice anywhere.

I jump from bed, sloppily straightening my sheets. I even exchange a panicked look with Hedwig. Well, I'm panicked. She just didn't expect me to be this active.

"Harry doesn't receive visitors. Especially not _your_ type." I dart around the room, kicking clothes into piles and scooting those piles beneath my bed.

"I think you'll make an exception. This pertains to Sirius Black." Silence on my Uncle's end. My gut tries to escape through my throat. He's going to come up here and blame Sirius on me. He'd be right. Even worse, though, he could come up here and try to make me feel better, try to convince me that it wasn't my fault. Either way, I'm not braced for this.

"Oh. Very well, then. Come in." Uncle Vernon wants him out of sight as quickly as possible. I stand at attention in the middle of my room staring at the door, waiting.

I hear his footsteps on the stairs. He's so close at hand. I desperately look around my room for a solution, for some escape. There isn't one. This is going to happen. This isn't just a nightmare I can scream myself awake from. I hear him walking down the hallway.

My door swings open, and he steps in, robes billowing, looking very much the part of a wizard. Remus Lupin.

He looks at me, and I try to imagine what he sees. Me, standing with my arms straight at my sides, hair messier than usual. I'm probably even skinnier than before, because my drive to eat with the Dursleys has drastically decreased. I now notice how dim my room is and curse myself for not thinking to turn on the light. I glare at the light switch. I don't want to meet Lupin's stare.

"Don't tell me you've been sitting in your room all day with the curtains closed and the light off?" he inquires. I swallow, trying to get a handle on my nerves.

"I only recently woke up." In my peripheral vision, his face changes. I walk to the window and pull back the curtain, allowing light in. I try not to squint into the sun.

"If you don't mind my asking, when is the last time you left the house?" he asks. Remus is perceptive. I wish he was meaner, and he came here to tell me off for being a bad person. But I'm not that lucky. I scramble to come up with the answer.

"Er... that depends what day it is." Remus' eyebrows shoot up.

"It's the fourteenth, Harry. A Saturday."

"Oh. Then maybe a week and a half." He sighs, rubbing his eyes.

"I knew you'd be torturing yourself."

"I don't feel tortured."

"No, Harry, you feel grief. And I assure you, there's a better way to handle it!"

"I'm handling it just fine, Professor." I turn and stiffly walk the few steps back to my bed, sitting on the edge.

"You should get out, Harry. You aren't meant to be stuck here! Why not go stay with the Weasleys for the rest of the summer? I'm sure they'd love to have you." He leans against my dresser and I feel a twinge of something like self-loathing or anger.

"Ron and I haven't been corresponding, lately," I say, as emotionless and straight-faced as I can be.

"You haven't even been writing him?" he asks, and his eyes dart to Hedwig.

"No. I have not." His expression is one of pity and my pride twitches uncomfortably.

"What about Hermione."

"No, I'm not talking to her, either." The following silence is nearly unbearable.

"Listen. I understand the not everybody needs to talk about their problems. But everyone needs a distraction." My collected, stony façade becomes alarmingly more difficult to keep up. He's getting too close to the subject.

"Why would I need a distraction from anything?" I silently beseech him not to say it.

"Because, Harry, whether you care to admit it, you lost your godfather." I take a discreet, deep breath, but I already feel my palms become clammy. I don't want to lose it in front of Lupin. I inhale again. I need to steer this conversation away from myself.

"I feel like you're ignoring yourself, Lupin. You lost your last, unconditional friend. You were closer to Sirius than I was, and it wouldn't be the first time you lost someone trying to save me. Why should you be here, trying to get me to spill my wounded, emotional guts, when there is so much that _you_ need to deal with?"

"Because, I'm _concerned_ for you, Harry! And I know Sirius would be, too. But you have to see that it is essential not to blame yourself. Everyone who died for you died with the choices they made. You never killed anybody." My fingers tremble the slightest bit. I bite my cheek to keep a straight face.

"I'm aware," I say shortly. "But, Lupin, if there's anyone in this situation who needs to grieve, I think it's you."

"I am grieving, Harry, but I'm not closing myself off."

"What do you want me to say?" I'm losing my cover. I stand up, and he looks somewhat taken aback. "Did you have a _solution_ you wanted to share?" He recovers.

"Well, yes, actually I do. Write to Ron. Patch things up." I snort.

"That's likely."

"Why? What happened that isn't overlookable?" I sit back down, crossing my arms defensively.

"Hermione reached my last straw, so, I corrected her."

"Corrected her?"

"I pointed out, admittedly loudly in the Great Hall, that she was being nosy, and she didn't have the faintest clue what she was talking about." Lupin looks pensive. "It isn't my fault that she couldn't take the blow, and started crying. Then, I took my leave, but according to Ron, I overstepped some kind of boundary. But she completely deserved it."

"She cried?"

"She deserved it!"

"Fine, I'll believe you. Hermione's sense of I-know-best can be a bit... much, at times."

"Exactly. Somebody had to set her straight."

"But can't you patch things up with just Ron?"

"No. I'm too prideful. I won't."

"Well, sitting here in your room all day won't do you any good. I'd appreciate it if you went outside, occasionally, even if it's to sit outside in the front lawn."

"I don't need to-"

"Not to mention that it would make _me_ feel better," says Lupin. I pause in my arguments. I owe Lupin, whether he agrees.

"It would make you feel better?"

"Indeed it would. Address a letter to me every week, if you will. I know you're no liar, Harry."

"Fine." I have no issue in writing to Lupin. I've already done enough to damage his life. If this is, for whatever reason, what he wants, I'll do it. "But don't expect a letter full of my sincerest, emotional thoughts, okay?"

"I wouldn't expect that anyway. It's been good seeing you, Harry."

"Yeah, okay. Goodbye, Professor."

"Just Lupin."

He closes my door behind him and I hear his footfalls on the stairs again. I sigh miserably. It looks as if I'll have to leave the house once in a while. Whatever Lupin needs to hear to feel better. I owe him.


End file.
